


The Risk Series 10:  Risky Choices

by KS_POI_Pretender_Fan



Series: The Risk Series [10]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KS_POI_Pretender_Fan/pseuds/KS_POI_Pretender_Fan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zoe's been put in a precarious situation.  Will she make the right choice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Distance

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Hello (ehoes)! Any J/Z shippers still out there? I'm baaaaack, well, sort of. My muse took a sabbatical, that b-ch. And although she isn't quite back yet, I had this fic I had started long before season 2 ended. It isn't finished yet, I thought maybe, if I posted, it would get my creative juices flowing. It is about 80% done, the ending might need some help. So, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> AN2: BTW, because I had started this about half way through season 2, Shaw hasn't made an appearance yet and Carter is still a detective.
> 
> AN3: At some point, the fic was beta'd by SassyJ and POIJane (Thanks girls)

**Chapter 1:  Distance**

* * *

He didn't realize it. Not right away. It was three months before John noticed that it wasn't just work that was getting in the way. He should have noticed sooner, but there were so many numbers, and so little time; so many to help and never enough time.

By the fifth unanswered call that went straight to voicemail in one twenty four hour period, for the second twenty four hour period in a row, he finally noticed. What was going on with her? For the last three months he could count with one hand, the number of times they had seen each other. They had spoken often enough, yet in the last several days his calls had gone unanswered which was unusual.

* * *

Zoe was exhausted. For three days straight she had tried to meet his every need, his every demand. At times like these, she wondered what made her decide to take him on. He had finally fallen asleep in exhaustion giving her respite. For how long, she never knew. His hunger was often insatiable, every time she thought he had had enough, he still wanted more.

Sitting on her bed, in her pajamas, she looked at the clock. Only eight o'clock and she was already in bed. She looked at the body resting next to hers and couldn't help but smile. God, she must have been insane. Three days ago, she didn't think it would be this difficult. She didn't think it was a good idea to bring him home with her, but she really didn't have a choice. Looking at him once again, she rubbed his back as he stretched, still asleep next to her.

Sighing, she leaned back against the headboard and took a deep breath. "I can't avoid him much longer," she said softly to herself. Bending a knee, she laid her elbow on it and rested her forehead against her palm. Guilt flowed through her. Though she and John kept things about their respective work confidential, she still couldn't help but feel guilty about keeping this from him.

The ringing of her cell phone was a welcome distraction. She picked up the phone quickly because of the slumbering form beside her. "Zoe Morgan."

The caller was silent for a few moments before he spoke. "You taking my calls again?"

"Of course, I'm sorry, it's been a hectic few days," she said tiredly, giving the form next to her another guilty glance. She was however; glad to hear John's voice. "It's good to hear from you though."

"Watch it there Zoe. You almost sound like you missed me," he replied playfully.

She laughed half-heartedly, knowing his statement wasn't far from the truth. "In your dreams."

John frowned, noting that there was something different in her voice. "Zoe, is everything okay?"

"Are you not working tonight?" she asked in reply, knowing that best way to dodge a question was to ignore it and change the direction of the conversation.

"Yes, we took care of the situation in record time. Harold said he would call if something comes up," he replied. The unasked question hung in the air.

She took a deep breath risking another glance at the body next to her on the bed. "It's . . . I won't be good company tonight John."

"What's going on Zoe?" he asked curiously.

"I . . . nothing . . . just . . . busy . . . and . . . tired," she muttered, even to her own ears it sounded lame.

"We haven't seen each other in weeks."

"Careful there John, people might think you miss me," she said teasingly.

"I'm not afraid to admit it," he replied.

"I've been busy."

"Have you? That's odd because you haven't left your apartment in three days."

"And how would you know that?" she retorted. "Have you been watching me? Tracking me?"

Just as John was preparing his reply, the figure next to her choose that moment to make a sound and opened his eyes, blue eyes staring right at her. Zoe's hand went to cover the mouthpiece of the phone, but it was clearly too late.

"What was that?" he asked.

Zoe distractedly ran her fingers running over his hair and back trying to soothe him. "Television," she replied quickly, too quickly in John's opinion.

John's brow furrowed, deliberately trying to determine what was going on with Zoe. "You don't watch TV, Zoe," he stated matter of fact.

"Can you call me back?" she asked softly. He could still hear the muffled sounds in the background.

"Why don't I just come over . . ." John suggested.

"What? No . . . you can't, not tonight," she replied sounding panicked.

She'd never said he couldn't come over in the past. And now in the space of ten minutes he had been given two very lame excuses for him to not to come, and he was somewhat confused.

"Can you call me back in about an hour, John?" she asked, breaking the silence. "I want to talk to you, but I have to take care of something."

"I'll call you back," he replied finally. His gut told him that she was hiding something; something that he may not like. Damn it, he wasn't going to wait an hour to call. He wasn't going to call at all. He was just going to show up at her apartment and confront her.

Zoe clicked off her phone and tossed it on the nightstand, hands on her hips she glared at the figure next to her. "Are you trying to out us? John doesn't know about you and I prefer that he never does."


	2. It's Not What You Think

He stood in front of her door, contemplating, should he or shouldn't he. Their relationship was based on trust, admiration, and that word neither one of them had spoken out loud but felt deep inside. She had never given him cause to feel jealous. He wasn't the sort anyway, even when he bore witness to the kiss she shared with her once long-ago lover, it didn't faze him because he knew her, he trusted her, he trusted what they had together and what it felt like. But in the past three months, she had been secretive. More so than could be attributed to keeping their work separate from their personal lives. He didn't like this feeling of doubt. He didn't like doubting her, but he couldn't help his gut feeling that something he should know about was going on.

Ultimately, what convinced him that he had just cause in picking Zoe's lock and entering her apartment uninvited was that she could be in danger. She was acting squirrely, more so than usual. Since she wouldn't tell him anything and had obviously been avoiding any contact, he decided to do what he must.

Quietly, he let himself in. Nothing unusual greeted him in the living room. He stealthily made his way through her apartment taking note that nothing was off. Everything was where it should be. Zoe could be heard moving around her bedroom, opening drawers and basically just bussing around. What could she possibly need an hour to take care of? Why did she not want him here?

"Oh-oh, someone is happy to see me. . . " he heard her say in a sing-song voice accentuated by the husky laugh he's grown fond of, especially when they . . .

John couldn't control the pang of betrayal that blossomed. It rose from the pit of his stomach and straight through to his heart.  _This isn't happening._  He thought to himself. She wouldn't do this without ending things first. He knew that much about her. Maybe it isn't the way it sounded.

"Let's get these clothes off big boy."

Pain and anger coursed through him. He had been caught unaware. Never would he have ever predicted such a blow to come from her, never from her. The trust between them was understood. Or so he believed. He should have known better, and he should never have given her his confidence; he knew that now.

"You want some skin on skin contact? I would love to comply, sugar, but we don't have time. If I know John, he'll be calling at exactly an hour."

John berated himself internally. He should have known better. Trust was always rewarded with pain. He knew that; the CIA and Kara had taught him that. His hands fisted as he replayed what he had just heard over and over in his mind. How could he have been so dim-witted, so naive? If he had not been so profoundly wounded, he would have at least accepted the way she had played him for the past months. But instead, he was just going to have to learn to live with the pain of the truth.

Zoe did her sultry laugh one more time then said, "Whoa there cowboy, how about giving me a minute?"

But then it was too late, the damage had been done. And it had been so cruel; she had to have known that the way she was acting on the phone would propel him to come over; and still she had deigned to have a quickie before he arrived? Zoe was always so straightforward and direct; he could never imagine her being deliberately cruel. Not until now. In an instant, everything had changed.

Not able to control the hurt and humiliation, he made a decision. It was time to confront them.

John calmly walked into the room. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" He announced. It wasn't a question, but a statement. A dare if you will, for them to deny.

When he walked into Zoe's bedroom, his eyes had been completely trained on the bed fully expecting to see her and her lover. To his surprise, the bed was mussed up but otherwise . . . completely empty?

At the sound to his right, he immediately shifted his unwavering gaze towards the door of the bathroom. To his dismay, he saw Zoe holding towel in front of her, her eyes wide with surprise.

* * *

Zoe was backing out of the bathroom when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Instinctively, she knew whose eyes were on her. It took her a moment to settle her nerves before she slowly turned around still clutching the towel to herself.

John motioned towards the bed and the bathroom. "What the hell is going on, Zoe?" he asked his throat dry.

Zoe stood her ground, trying hard to appear unaffected by his appearance. "What part of I won't be good company tonight did you not understand John?"

"Answer my question," he growled.

She crossed her arms and watched him. "The less you know, John, the better off you'll be."

"How long has it been going on?" He demanded, stepping closer to her.

"John, I . . . it doesn't matter," she said tiredly.

"How could you do this? How did I not find out sooner?"

"I didn't want you to," she replied with a dry chuckle.

"Do you think this is a laughing matter?" he questioned barely containing his anger. For her to be blasé about the situation was alarming. She never took things this lightly. Everything she did had a purpose.

She shot him an incredulous look. "Do I think it's funny that you break into my home uninvited? What the hell do you think, John?"

"Zoe, you've been evasive for the last three months, I seriously thought you were in trouble."

"John, we have set boundaries, I would never assume that I can just show up at your loft specifically after you asked me not to."

"Zoe, you . . . the boundaries are sometimes meant to be crossed," he said insistently.

"Excuse me? John, we agreed that the less questions we ask about the other's 'jobs', the better off we are."

"But . . ."

She ran a hand through her hair distractedly. "John, this has nothing to do with you."

"How can you say that?" he murmured. "This is . . . why have you hidden this from me?"

"Hidden? This is work John," she replied still unclear why he seemed upset enough to barge into her apartment uninvited. "I don't do this . . . cross boundaries when you're gone for days on end . . . me not knowing if someone finally got the better of you and shot you dead. I don't call Harold screaming for him to tell me what you're working on or who you're going to take a bullet for. . . "

"Work, I would understand Zoe, but this . . . I don't, I can't."

"What do you mean . . . John? This is work. What do you think is going on here?"

"I heard everything Zoe."

"What do you mean, John?"

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I've been outside that door," he said, pointing to her bedroom door, "for the last ten minutes. I know what's going on in here."

Her look said she doubted it very much. "Really because I seriously - - " a thump from the bathroom interrupted Zoe.

"Why is he still in there?" John asked, heading towards the bathroom, not understanding the gall of hiding in the bathroom leaving Zoe to explain things.

Holding her ground, Zoe blocked John's way. "John, stop this, you are going to scare him."

"Scare him? Do you honestly thing I care at this point?" Gently, he picked Zoe up and physically moved her out of the way.

"John," Zoe grabbed his arm, "don't do this . . . "

Jerking his arm away none too gently, John turned his back on Zoe and went on the attack.

* * *

 


	3. D'oh

* * *

Charging into the bathroom, ready for a confrontation, John immediately stopped in his tracks. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't what he found waiting for him in the bathroom. "What the hell is that?"

Rushing past John into the bathroom, Zoe muttered, "What the hell do you think it is? Haven't you seen one before?"

"Not that little," John responded feeling like a total idiot. He rarely rushed to judgment especially without much information and especially just based on how someone was acting, but he sure as hell did it this time. He hung his head but couldn't help smiling at the situation.

Zoe cradled the small wailing baby in her arms, rubbing the pads of her fingers over the baby's extremely small head. "It's okay, sweet pea, that's just grumpy John, let's go get some clothes on, I'm sure you're cold just hanging out in your diaper," she said softly, shooting John a withering glare as she strode past him into the bedroom.

John head still hung, followed her into the bedroom where she gently laid the baby on the bed. "Watch him, while I get him some clothes." She commanded, heading towards her dresser to pull out a sleeper from one of the drawers. John sat by the baby on the bed to make sure he didn't roll off. Although, as young as the baby looked, it didn't appear it could move much beyond its back.

Zoe made it back to the bed and made quick work of getting the baby dressed. She picked him up and clutched the baby closer to her chest. "Shh-shhh, it's okay, buddy. . . "

Motioning towards the crib and baby paraphernalia, he hadn't noticed when he barged in, John raised an eyebrow. "Did you forget to tell me something?"

Her hand settled over the little boy's head as she nuzzled his cheek, and she looked up at John. "Who this? This is well, he doesn't have a name yet, and I can't tell you his last name."

"Last I checked, you weren't pregnant," he replied, looking over at her, and smiling at her gentleness with the child. He had never seen her with a child as young as the baby in her arms, he had seen her many times with Katie and he knew what very few people do, that Zoe Morgan had a way with children.

"Still not," she quipped with an impish smile.

"Where did you find him?" John asked, unable to resist running his big hand over the incredibly small fuzzy head.

"Manhattan General. I was working a private adoption for a client. The birth mother went into labor several weeks early and unfortunately, my clients are out of the country and won't be back for few more weeks. And because the birth parents have already signed away their parental rights, someone had to take care of this little guy until the adoptive parents came home."

He cocked his head with a curious look he asked. "I didn't realize you did this sort of thing."

Zoe sighed, swaying the baby gently from side to side. "I don't usually, but this was a favor to my client's family. They needed discretion; the family is rather prominent and didn't want it getting out before they were ready."

John nodded his understanding for the need of anonymity. "You look like you know what you're doing."

She smiled, "Hardly. I didn't take care of Katie much when she was this little, so I'm not exactly sure what I'm up against. Although I'm short on sleep, it hasn't been too terribly bad. If it gets too crazy, I can always call Maggie or hire a nanny. It's only for a couple of weeks at most." Zoe's smile grew as the baby curled his hand around her pinky then let out a huge wail.

* * *

An hour, another clean diaper, and bottle of formula later the baby and Zoe were huddled together on the couch. Deciding that she couldn't call the baby "baby" for the next two weeks, Zoe had picked up Baby Names 2013. Even though she wouldn't be anywhere near involved in choosing his name, she thought she could at least give him a temporary one . . .

As she riffled through the pages of the book, she eliminated names rather quickly. "Armand?" she asked quietly, looking down at the baby's blue gaze. He was awake and seemed to be listening to her talk. Zoe made a face when it didn't appear as though the baby was responding. "Nah, makes me think of a vampire." She chided. "And you, buddy, do not have any teeth and won't for a while yet eh?" she said playfully ticking his chin.

The baby cooed lightly in reply and tried to shove his fist in his mouth; it made Zoe grin.

"What are you smiling at?" John asked hair still slightly damp from his recent shower, he plopped himself on the couch next to Zoe and stretched his legs out, bare feet on the coffee table.

Zoe's lips morphed into a smile. "This little guy doesn't seem to like the name Armand."

"Can't say I blame him, it's a tad pretentious," John commented as he slung an arm around Zoe.

"It is not," she replied, elbowing him in the ribs. Her fingers skillfully turning pages in the book, the baby curled his fingers around the index finger on her other hand. "Jack is a diminutive form of John or Jackson."

"What?"

"Jack, he looks like a Jack, doesn't he?" she thought aloud as she gently held up the baby, careful to still support his neck.

"I don't know," he replied in a soft, contemplative voice. "If your son had lived, would you have called him Jack?"

"Probably," she said quietly, the old feeling of loss flitted in and out of her subconscious. "Do you ever think about families, John?"

"You know I do, Zoe. We talked about this at your grandmother's house."

"No, what I mean is, families don't just mean blood relatives right? We've always been taught that families are those bound by blood. Unfortunately, we don't get to choose who is in our family. I realize that those blood ties are important, but why?"

"Maybe because blood ties equals acceptance," he replied.

"Not always. I mean, I consider Robert and Maggie and Katie as more my family than my parents ever were. Sarah Ann, and hell even Slip." she prattled on.

"I see what you mean," John replied, gently.

"Don't you consider Harold, Fusco, Detective Carter, that strange man Leon, your family as well?" she queried.

They fell silent; the question had come out of nowhere. She looked down at the child in her arms. "Sorry, that's none of my business."

John had remained silent for so long, she thought he may have fallen asleep on her.

"Actually, it probably is your business, but I just don't how to reply," he finally said. "I suppose considering what I do, I shouldn't consider blood as the all important connection between two people."

"It certainly isn't for me," she whispered. She looked down at the baby who pulled her finger into his mouth and began sucking on it.

He held his breath for a moment, contemplating his next words. "Family doesn't have to mean blood, it means support, being there for each other, and unconditional l . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," she smiling.

"Is that your way of saying that care for me?" he questioned, already knowing the answer.

"What do you think?" she murmured and looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms and decided to sit there for a little while longer in the quiet.


	4. Complications

* * *

John entered the building on the Upper East Side. There had been too many numbers last night; he was not able to get to all of them. Harold had called with three; this was the last one. He moved quickly and quietly down the long hallway. Rounding the corner, John froze, not daring to breathe. Something did not feel right. The hallway of the high-end apartment building should not be this shrouded in darkness.

As he crept stealthily down the corridor, John slipped his firearm from under his jacket. The door of the apartment he was in quest of stood open, just a fraction of an inch. Inhaling deeply, he placed his right hand on the door pushing it open just enough for him to be able to squeeze through. It moved without a sound as he slipped carefully through the narrow opening.

Flattening his body against the wall John listened fixedly while his eyes adjusted to dimly lit foyer of the apartment. He began to work his way along the wall, his heart beating fiercely in his chest. A sudden feeling of foreboding washed over him as he paused before he reached the bedrooms. Inhaling deeply once again, he walked into the bedroom.

His head fell forward as he put his gun back beneath his coat. He got on one knee and felt for a pulse, already knowing he would not find one. The knife in her chest was the first clue. The second was the sightless eyes staring at him.

"Finch," he said as he flicked his ear bud on, "we're too late, someone got to her . . ."

"I can call Detectives Carter and Fusco . . . you need to get out of there, Mr. Reese."

* * *

Detective Carter looked up from her book she was taking notes on when Fusco arrived, her expression grave. "The super has identified the victim as Blythe Huffington, wife of Prescott Huffington, as in THE Huffingtons." Everyone in Manhattan was familiar with the Huffington name. Akin to the Kennedys, they had a long and storied political history.

"Crap," Fusco said. He hated high-profile cases, because as often as not the family caused problems and a hindered the investigation with their demands, not to mention the increased media attention also ate into their time.

"The victim's family is being notified, so her name hasn't been released to the media yet," Carter continued as they walked further into the apartment towards the bedrooms. The crime scene guys were already hard at work, taking pictures, combing the area for trace evidence. Fusco put his hands in his pockets and approached close enough that he had a better view of the body, but not so close that he got in the way.

The victim lay sprawled on her back in a pool of blood. Protruding from her body at her chest was what appeared to be a kitchen knife. Fusco squatted next to the body, his sharp gaze noting every detail. Something he knew Carter did as well. The victim looked as if she had been stabbed repeatedly since there was more than one puncture wound. The wound that killed her had the knife buried almost to the hilt into her heart.

Carter was well aware of the emotional turmoil this would cause. In many cases the dead were not the only victims of a murder, she knew that all too well. The families suffered as well. Blythe Huffington had been a beautiful woman, murdered just weeks after returning from Nepal, a second honeymoon to celebrate their ten-year anniversary. She would likely have had parents, siblings, friends; she definitely had a husband who had yet to be notified. Someone loved her. Carter had to pull herself back emotionally. She had learned long ago that if she took every case to heart she would not be able to function and get the job done. All cops went about their jobs differently, some with humor, others by just keeping the emotions to themselves, and worse yet, others chose the bottle.

As much as she wanted to, it was someone else's job to soothe the pain this woman's death would cause: a priest, a doctor, a friend. Her job was to find the killer.

Pictures were scattered across the floor around the body. It was clear she had struggled; her arms bore defensive wounds. The victim's cell phone lay beside her and would likely lead them to a direction in which to start. It was the newest iPhone around so more than likely they would find something on it.

With gloves on her hands, Carter picked up the phone and scrolled through the recent calls. The last call she had made last night was to someone Carter knew, not well, but enough. Zoe Morgan.

* * *

Zoe took a baby bottle and began to mix some formula knowing that Jack would be hungry soon, after a month, Zoe and Jack had established a routine. Never mind that it was two weeks more than she had expected to have the baby in her custody. As with any relationship she had had in the past, they had established their boundaries and tried to live by them. She threw a dishrag over the shoulder of her silk classic cut sheath dress as if it were an everyday occurrence. As she turned around, she found John watching her with a smile on his face. "What?" She asked irritably.

"Nothing," he replied, the smile never leaving his face. He'd quietly sat next to Jack in his bouncy seat in Zoe's living room for well over an hour; watching her as she went through paperwork and took notes on a legal pad. Truth be told, he was worried about her, but he could not tell her that.

In just four weeks, he had managed to see her in another new light. She soothed Jack when he cried, she sat on the floor in an expensive dress and stilettos to make sure Jack had a few minutes of tummy time, she had gotten up every two hours to feed him. She had gone from being distant caretaker to actually shining with him. No, that wasn't true. From the beginning, mere days after he was born, Zoe had taken full responsibility for him even knowing that, at that time, she only had two short weeks with him. As the two short weeks lengthened into four, John feared that she was getting too attached to Jack. He was not sure what to expect from her once she finally had to give him up to the adoptive parents.

He watched as Zoe left the kitchen, and moved towards him and Jack in the living room. He was not exactly sure how she managed it, but she picked Jack up from his bouncy seat and sat down right on the floor. She adjusted him in the crook of her arm and gave him his bottle. John scanned the items on the coffee table and picked up a photo album. He held his breath as he flipped through the photos, all of Jack. He thought about how much her apartment had changed in the last year, from not having anything of significance in evidence to having a photo album of a baby on her coffee table.

"There you go, Jack," she murmured. "Well, now, do I know you or what kiddo? You were hungry. . ."

John listened to her words, a small smile tugging at his lips. The always in control, unflappable, crisis manager was sitting on the floor, feeding an infant and talking baby talk. Will wonders never cease? In the four weeks since she had taken custody of the baby, she had also, much to John's surprise, re-arranged her schedule to fit Jack's. She arranged for someone to be with the baby, either Sarah Ann or Slip and on occasion John. Zoe was acting like a responsible working mother.

After the baby finished the bottle, Zoe got up and started patting his back. She ran her fingers over the fuzzy hairs on Jack's head. "C'mon Jack-jack, let 'er rip . . ." she said as she continued to pat his back and sway back and forth urging him to burp.

John decided to broach the subject he knew he didn't want to get into but knew had had to. "When are your clients planning on taking Jack?" he asked.

She continued to walk and pat Jack at the same time. "Soon, John; they are just trying to figure things out . . ."

"What's there to work out?"

She shook her head, shrugged her shoulders. "Issues, they wouldn't give me the details."

"And in the meantime you're stuck with the baby?"

"Stop it John, I don't see it as a problem, why should you?" she replied all of a sudden feeling defensive.

"Because . . ." he hedged.

"Because what John?" she asked watching him sitting silently for a moment.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'm worried that you've grown too attached to Jack. You have only had him for four weeks, but in those four weeks, you've moved heaven and earth to accommodate him. In a normal situation, that would be commendable, but Zoe, your situation isn't normal."

She frowned, not sure what to say. She had heard him use the word "normal," and that was something she did not even want to think about. "John, I understand what you're saying . . . really I do."

"Then you need to start pushing your clients to make a decision. This isn't fair to you or to Jack."

Wanting to deflect the attention from her, Zoe instead of answering, asked John a question instead. "How did your target, charge, whatever you call him, her, or it turn out this morning?" She knew of the situation last night and wanted to know how it was resolved.

John took the hint and decided to table the discussion for now. Shaking his head, he said gravely, "I was too late."

She walked towards him and laid a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry."

"Days like today, Harold and I both wish we had extra hands. There's only so much we could do with so little time."

Zoe felt for John, knowing the guilt of being too late was going to eat at him. And here he was worrying about her. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Problem is, had I gotten to her the night before, I would have probably been able to save Blythe Huffington." John was wracked with guilt he didn't immediately notice that Zoe had stiffened and stopped walking.

"Blythe? She's dead? Are you sure?" She whispered.

John reached for the baby's hand and watched him tugging at his larger finger. "No doubt . . ."

"We were supposed to meet later today, to talk about the baby I just spoke to her this morning, confirming our meeting."

At John's inquisitive look she replied, "Blythe and Prescott were going to be Jack's parents."


	5. What's going on?

Zoe hadn't quite recovered hearing the news when her doorbell rang.

"Expecting anyone?"  John asked. 

Walking to the door, Zoe shook her head.  Looking through the peephole, she sighed.  She handed Jack to John and stated, "Detectives Carter and Fusco.  Do you need to make yourself and Jack scarce or is it okay?"

"Let them in . . . it's okay." John said, "I'll be in the bedroom listening and keeping this guy distracted."  On his way to the back room, John picked up the bouncy seat.  

Fumbling with the lock, Zoe opened the door.  "Detectives?"

Carter and Fusco glanced at each other.  They thought it odd that Zoe didn't seem surprised to see them.

"Miss Morgan," Carter said, "may we come in?  We need to ask you some questions about Blythe Huffington."

Zoe stepped back, allowing them to walk in. 

Carter's sharp gaze was taking in everything that was different in Zoe's apartment from the last time she had seen it.  Stylish yet sparse it spoke of class months ago when they had to question her about another murder.  She had been a suspect, but had later been cleared.  Currently, her living room still looked stylish yet there were something out of place that she couldn't put a finger on. 

Normally, interviews could be conducted singularly by detectives, but in this case, Fusco was here as another set of eyes. And more importantly, as a witness that the job had been done by the book.  A high profile case like this needed the i's dotted and the t's crossed.

"Blythe Huffington was murdered last evening," Carter said, clearly the lead detective on the case.  "How is it that you don't seem surprised at the news?"

"I just heard," Zoe started, "a few minutes before you arrived."  Waving towards nothing in particular, she took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, please, have a seat."  Zoe motioned for the couch as she took the armchair.

"The reason we're here Miss Morgan is because we noticed on Mrs. Huffington's cell phone that you were her last call.  We were hoping you could shed some light as to what happened, what her plans were today." 

"We talked to confirm our scheduled meeting for this afternoon," Zoe stated.

"What was the nature of your meeting?"  Carter asked, watching Zoe's face.  Though obvious that Zoe was mulling over how much to tell them, no emotion ever showed on her face. 

Both Carter and Fusco were taking notes; though Zoe didn't look directly at them, she could see them in her peripheral vision.  How much of the detail to go into was always the question in situations like this and given that they were still her clients, or rather, Prescott's father was still her client, she decided to be as forthright as she could. 

"Prescott and Blythe are clients of mine.  I was handling a rather sensitive matter for them."

"So you were meeting with both of them this afternoon?"

"No, just Blythe." 

"Miss Morgan, it would make our jobs a lot easier if you could tell us what you know without cleansing it first,”  Carter stated, then reassured Zoe.  “I . . . we . . . “ she corrected, “realize discretion is important in your line of work and given the high profile nature of the families involved, Fusco and I are not going to be talking to the media.  The more we know about the situation, the more we can keep our mouths shut."

Zoe took a deep breath, organizing her thoughts.  She might as well tell them everything, trusting both Carter and Fusco to keep their word that they wouldn't let anything not pertinent to the case slip.  Before she started, she cleared her throat.  "About four months ago, Prescott's father, engaged my services.  Prescott and Blythe had been trying for years to conceive, unfortunately, they were not successful," she paused and held up her hand as Fusco was about to ask a question.  "You're wondering what constitutes my services?"

At Fusco's nod, Zoe continued to explain the need for her to arrange a private adoption.  Though not something she usually provided, she explained the Huffingtons need for discretion.  They needed someone to instigate the search for willing birth parents as well as work with their attorneys regarding the legalities.  "Detectives, understand that this was all done within the legal confines of the law.  They wanted to make sure that their custody of the child would never be questioned."  The Huffingtons were also concerned with their name being bandied about and certainly didn't want wackos that wanted their claim to fame be that they provided a child for the New York equivalent of the Kennedys. 

Carter was listening to Zoe at the same time that her eyes scanned the room again.  She finally hit on what was different from the last time they were here; the baby bottle that was sitting right in front of them on the coffee table.  "Miss Morgan, do you have that child with you?"

Zoe sighed, "Yes, and as to how I knew about Blythe.  A concerned third party told me,” she explained then called out to the back room.  “John, you and Jack can come out . . ."

Both Carter and Fusco were surprised to see Wonder Boy walk out of the back room looking very comfortable holding an infant no longer than his forearm.   Carter at least had seen the ex-CIA op with a baby before, so she was hardly surprised.  Fusco on the other hand hadn't, he was, in a word, floored, so explaining his mouth being slack.  Carter reached over with her notebook and shut his mouth for him. 

"The birth mother had gone into labor two weeks early.  At that time both Prescott and Blythe were in Nepal, out of touch since they were climbing Mt.Everest.   The birth parents already signed over their parental rights so someone to take custody of the child for the time being. "

"But, Miss Morgan, haven't the Huffingtons been back for several weeks now?"  Carter asked.

"Yes, unfortunately, I honestly don't have the details, but Prescott and Blythe had some sort of epiphany during their trip to Nepal and asked if I could keep Jack for another few weeks until they decided how to proceed.  Blythe was determined to take care of Jack, I'm not so sure about Prescott."

"Do you know where Mr. Huffington might be?  He wasn't at home and we can't seem to locate him."

"I would try his parents’ house; his best friend Jeffrey Timmons, possibly.  I didn't get the feeling that the issue between Prescott and Blythe was acrimonious, though."

 

* * *

They were in the car before Fusco broke out into a huge grin.  “Was Wonder Boy doing the mommy walk, jiggle, sway, pat the back thing on that kid?”

Carter couldn’t help but smile.  “Indeed it was.  At least he didn’t have the kid out on surveillance with him.”  She laughed out loud as she remembered running into Reese a year ago with a Baby Bjorn strapped on with little Leila in it.  He had been teaching her the fine art of surveillance, or so he said.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t get any vibes off of her.  I think she’s probably clean.”

Carter nodded.  “I never thought she did either.  She may be wily and I may question what she does now and again, but I know she’s not a killer.  Knowing she had the kid too, I doubt that she would have left him by himself.”  She had noticed too the way Zoe was looking at the baby.  Definitely protective, a side Carter and she would assume a lot of people had never seen; a definite thawing of the fixer.  As far as she could tell, Zoe would not have had any motive to kill Blythe.  For all intents and purposes, she was helping the Huffingtons find happiness. 

 

* * *

He watched her sleep.  Her head pillowed on her hand as she lay on her side.  Zoe was smiling as she slept; the always present furrow in her brow was gone.  She appeared relaxed and happy, next to her side of the bed was a co-sleeper upon which Jack was sleeping, a purchase she had immediately made a week after taking custody so that the baby could be close but not be at risk of being squashed if she rolled over.  Though it felt somewhat strange to be watching them sleep, it also felt natural.

 

His worries from this morning weighed heavy on his mind as he was preparing to leave.  Harold had called with a new number.  Although she'd told him that she was fine and that she wasn’t getting attached to Jack, he couldn’t help but feel as if she were deluding herself.  He was familiar with growing attached to a child, he had felt it the short time he and Harold had taken care of Leila.  So he didn’t buy it when she said she was fine.  She’s had an entire month to get attached. And knowing her, she wouldn’t get attached lightly.  It was difficult enough for her to form relationships, but when it involved a child who was solely depending on the adult, it made that relationship doubly important and fragile.

 

This was not going to end well, John felt; for either of them but especially for Zoe.  Jack wouldn’t remember much if anything about her, but Zoe, she would know what she was giving up.  Things had changed so much in the short time since Jack came into their lives. Even John wasn’t immune to the feeling of attachment.  Now when he talked to her, she seemed to sound so different; it thrilled him and frightened him at the same time.

 

Leaning over the bed, he pushed her hair out of her face.  “Zoe, I have to go, Harold called,” he whispered so as not to wake Jack.  At the touch of his fingers, she had instantly awakened, she lifted her head up and with eyes still half hooded from sleep, smiled at him and nodded her understanding.  She turned back over and slowly reached for Jack.  She laid her hand close, but not touching, and as if by instinct, Jack’s hand moved closer and the tiny fist wrapped around one of her fingers.  


	6. Chapter 6:  Sifting Through the Evidence

* * *

Carter concentrated on the multitude of details they had to round up the next morning; going through surveillance cameras in and around the building, finding the husband, figuring out what the issues where they had to work out; too much to do, too little time.

The victim’s family had been notified, at least.  That was always the most difficult part.  In this case, because the father in law was a state senator, she and Fusco had to make two difficult visits.  The victim’s parents were devastated.  Though they hadn’t dissolved in a flood of tears and questions, they instead looked as if they’d been leveled.  An only child, Blythe was their reason for living. 

They had found the husband at the parents’ house, but didn’t get the chance to interview him.  He was almost catatonic with grief.  “But, I talked to her last night,” he kept insisting.  They did determine however that he was at his parents’ house all night and didn’t leave at all that day.  It would be easily verifiable given that the family had surveillance cameras all over their home. 

Carter’s gut told her the killer was someone Blythe knew.  No signs of forced entry, she hadn’t been killed coldly or calmly, and the sheer number of entry wounds suggested a frenetic anger and rage.  Carter had closed her eyes to think.

“You’re here early,” Fusco said coming back from the break room with some coffee. 

“Couldn’t sleep and had too much to do,” Carter replied as an explanation to why she was still at the precinct.  She could feel Fusco settling on his desk across from hers, and she sighed as she gave in and opened her eyes, looking up at the tired face of her partner.  “What about you?”

Fusco gave a thin smile, “I looked through the witness reports, which was precious little.  The only description we got was that an unrecognized male, six foot at least, dark hair, wearing a suit left early yesterday morning.  Given what we know, that was probably John.”

“Ninety percent of the time,” Carter suggested, “the perp is either a family friend or a part of the family.  This was personal, I’m thinking male because of the mess.  Women don’t get their hands dirty when they kill.  And this one had mess.”

“Maybe the husband decided to end it with her, you know, those issues Miss Morgan was talking about.”  Fusco supposed.

“It’s worth a look to see if either one of them had gone to see a divorce lawyer or something like it.  I wish it would be obvious, but I really don’t feel the husband was good for this.  He said he was at his parents’ house the night before and the morning of the murder.  It’s easy enough to prove or disprove, I’d hazard a guess too the ME is going to give us a time of death that would rule him out.”

Given that they were looking at someone Blythe probably knew, they had to look at the obvious men in her life. They had to go back and interview relatives, those closest to her . . .

* * *

“Everyone loved Blythe,” said Carrie Thompson, Blythe’s mother, her voice slight and extremely sad that Carter wasn’t sure she would get over her daughter’s death.  How did anyone recover from the brutal murder of a loved one?  She knew most people did, she knew people were stronger than they expected they would be, but at that particular moment, they were damaged.

“I’m sure they did, ma’am,” Carter offered gently.  Blythe’s father Daniel sat beside his wife, his head down.  The two were holding hands, as if only the other’s support kept each of them upright.  They both seemed to have aged years since they were notified of Blythe’s death. 

“Who would do this to Blythe?” he asked, his voice broke as he got to the last word as tears began to slide down his cheeks. 

“We still don’t know ma’am,” Carter said.  “We’re hoping you could help us with that.  Did she tell you anything about what she had planned on doing yesterday?”

“No, not really,” Carrie said.  Her eyes were swollen and her face was pale.  “I know that she had her usual things planned, charity events, and such, but nothing specific.”

“Do you know if she and Prescott were having problems?”

“Oh no, those two were made for each other.  They talked too, they never fought, as far as I know,” Blythe’s mother answered with a shake of her head. 

"Did Blythe seem worried about anything?"

"My goodness, no.  As far as I could tell, she was on top of the world.  She had just celebrated their ten year anniversary.  Yes, they still hadn't managed to have any children, but she seemed as if she had come to terms with that.  In fact, I know that she and Prescott were excited about adopting a child."

"Was she getting along with Prescott and his family?"

Daniel's head came up, and his spine stiffened a little.  "You think Prescott might have done this?"  Life came back into his eyes, in the form of anger.  It was easy to see he wanted, needed  someone he could blame.

"No, not at all," Carter said, and that was true.  They had confirmed that he hadn't left the his parents home during the time of death and remained there through yesterday.  As far as alibis went, his was pretty tight.  "But the investigation always starts with the family and friends of the victim.  Especially since there didn't seem to be any indication of forced entry.  Then we widen the circle, once family members are eliminated.  Does that make sense to you?"  In a way it sounded like crap, but honestly that was how it was.  It was seldom in these situations that they had to look further than the immediate circle of friends and family. 

Daniel's shoulders slumped again.  "As far as I could tell, she didn't have any trouble at all with any of his family.  They loved her like their own.  I don't know much about Prescott's friends, just his best friend Jeffrey.  They've been friends since they were kids, nice enough sort."

"They were all very nice people," Carrie offered, then her  voice faded as she just stared at the floor.

"Thank you for your time Mr. and Mrs. Thompson," Carter said gently.  They really had no more information to offer, and they were in such pain that any more questions might push them over the edge.  "We'll keep you in the loop." 

Carter and Fusco walked out to the car.  Fusco put his hands in his pockets and messed with his change.  "Nothing more than what we had last night."

"You're right.  Maybe we'll get something from the Huffingtons."

* * *

Because of the Senator's busy schedule, Carter had called beforehand and made arrangements for when both the Senator and his wife were going to be there.  She had kept the request vague, because if the Senator, his wife or his son were involved in any way, Carter didn't want to show her hand.

They were led into what appeared to be a library with wall to wall book shelves.  A woman put aside her book and rose from the brown leather chair.  "I'm Miranda Huffington," she said in a straightforward manner, walking towards them and holding out her hand.  Carter liked that about Mrs. Huffington, her grip was strong and wasn't limp like a noodle. 

Mrs. Huffington was certainly striking, a wife that would clearly be an asset in politics.  Her carriage was reminiscent of Jackie Kennedy, yet seemed more reachable; next to her stood an equally striking Senator Huffington.  Without being obvious, Carter paid sharp attention to the senator.  On the surface, he appeared to be likeable, pleasant, smart, but with a clear determination.  Though they both appeared relaxed, Carter could sense the tension in them.  Their daughter in law had been murdered; currently, it was the calm before the media storm.  Pretty soon, they will be called on the carpet; to be in the public eye, talking to the press, comforting their son, and send their condolences to their son's in-laws.  It was apparent that they were trying to take advantage of the relative calmness. 

"Please . . ." Miranda motioned towards the couch. 

"Now," she said without preamble, looking from Carter to Fusco.  "I suppose you're here to ask if either one of us killed Blythe."

"Miranda!" the senator said, shocked. 

Going on instinct, because it was clear the senator's wife wasn't going to put up with bullshit, Carter said, "Yes, ma'am.  As you know, it's just standard procedure."

"I realized that; family and close friends first.  For my part, I loved Blythe, she was perfect for Prescott.  They may not have had a grand love affair, they loved each other in their own way, but they were friends, best friends even."

"Did your son ever mention any problems or issues he had with Blythe?"

"No, not really."  The senator replied after a brief consideration.  "You're wondering why he was staying here the night before?"  at Carter's brief nod, the senator continued.  "Sometimes, he and Jeffrey, Jeffrey Timmons, Prescott's best friend; like to stay in the area since it is away from the City.  They would either stay in or sometimes go out."

"Does your son spend a lot of time here?"

Mrs. Huffington decided to take this particular question.  "Once or twice a week I would say, although it was more so since they came back from Nepal.  I was surprised really, though he wouldn't say why he was here so much, he did say that they were trying to resolve some issues.  I was hoping that they weren't changing their mind about the baby."

"Have you visited the child?"

"No, not yet.  We know Miss Morgan is taking good care of the child and if there was any question of whether or not Prescott and Blythe were having concerns, we didn't want to get attached."  Yet, Carter thought to herself, they had no qualms about letting Zoe get attached.  To Carter, the reasoning seemed selfish as well as cold. 

Carter and Fusco took their leave having obtained what they could from the interviews.  The Huffingtons' alibis wouldn't come into question given that they were easily verifiable through the security tapes and logs.  As they stood up to leave, the senator did as well.  "I'll see you to the door," he said.  As they walked across the foyer, he asked, "Do you have any idea when Blythe's body will be released to Prescott?"

"If not tomorrow, possibly the day after," Carter answered.

The senator nodded, looked thoughtful.  "Then my wife and I will clear some time to help him make some decisions.  Prescott is devastated.  He's here, in fact, resting upstairs.  He wasn't able to rest last night, but his mother convinced him to take some sleep aids."  He opened the door and walked outside with them. 

"Thank you again for your time Senator," Carter said as she and Fusco each shook the senator's hand then got in the car. 

As they were driving away, Fusco's phone rang.  "Yeah," he answered, listened for a few seconds then clicked off. 

"Who was that?"  Carter asked.

"That was Wonder Boy.  He's hanging around in the trees somewhere."

"In here?" Carter asked incredulously since they were still in the Huffington property, they hadn't made it to the gate yet.  "How the hell did he get in - - never mind."  She rolled her hand indicting that Fusco continue.

"Prescott is John's new project."

"What are the odds that a wife gets killed and two days later, the husband is also in danger?  Why not at the same time?"  Carter thought out loud.

"Hell, I don't know.  I just do what John says.  And in this case, it's keep an eye on the son and let him know what we know . . . he'll be in touch."


End file.
